


The Opposite of Fear

by savvylikeapirate



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Emotional Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvylikeapirate/pseuds/savvylikeapirate
Summary: Sometimes the exhaustion weighed down her very bones, covering her spirit like the hood of her coat covered her head. Pretending like she wasn’t desperately afraid was almost as tiring as the daily frantic marches across the kingdom of fire.And now, when there was finally a potential light at the end of the longest tunnel, another obstacle came crashing down.“There may be a traitor in our midst.”





	The Opposite of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of an art trade for a dear friend of mine, who requested Reader/Hrid. I've never done a reader-based fic like that, so I asked if I could use The Summoner instead. I purposefully left her details vague so that she can work as a self-insert for anyone reading this. 
> 
> This is my first time posting smut, so I hope it's well received! The smut itself was according to my friend's taste, so it might not hit every button for every reader.

The enemy wasn’t far behind them. These days it seemed like they were nothing but lemmings being herded off a cliff, with the fires of Muspel behind them every step of the way. As a beacon of hope, as a leader, she couldn’t show any signs of faltering or let the ever-encroaching despair overcome her for a single moment. 

 

Sometimes the exhaustion weighed down her very bones, covering her spirit like the hood of her coat covered her head. Pretending like she wasn’t desperately afraid was almost as tiring as the daily frantic marches across the kingdom of fire. 

 

And now, when there was finally a potential light at the end of the longest tunnel, another obstacle came crashing down. 

 

_ “There may be a traitor in our midst.” _

 

She frowned, clenching her fists. He was right, but it seemed all too convenient. Hrid was supposedly the bane of Muspel, supposedly saved by Prince Alphonse’s beloved Zacharias. 

 

Supposedly full of shit. 

 

Hrid had been given a tent of his own within the same area as the rest of the Royalty and commanders. Camp, though set up in a hurry, was perfectly ordered. She took a moment to be thankful for Frederick and Jakob’s anal-retentive little hearts and their devotion to the Order. 

 

Her devotion was no little thing either. Being The Summoner meant that every hero that arrived was her responsibility, and she loved them all fiercely. Even if she lacked their combat abilities, each of them was hers to protect. 

 

That desire brought her here, to the front of Hrid’s tent. If anything went wrong, there was a dagger tucked up into her sleeve. There was a chance that it would be entirely ineffective and she’d die for this, but it would be worth it if her suspicions were correct. 

 

She was about to ask for entrance when he beat her to the punch. “Whoever is out there, you can come in.”

 

Like all of them, his voice rasped slightly with too much exposure to smoke. It had no right to sound so pleasant and low. She shook off the strange feeling and tossed it open, striding in and lifting her hood away from her face. 

 

“Good evening, Prince Hrid.”

 

“Evening, Summoner,” he replied, looking up from applying ointment to his hands. Though his armor was on the ornate side, the shirt he wore underneath it all was of plain white linen. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows to doctor the burns that hid under his gloves during the day. 

 

Her mouth ran traitorously dry. Men with rolled-up sleeves were somehow more attractive that way than shirtless. He was probably doing it on purpose too. Git. 

 

Hrid’s ice-blue eyes glanced her way, then back at his wounds. “Is there something I can help you with? I imagine that you’re concerned about the same thing that had me in the command tent with the others until moments ago.” 

 

“Indeed.” She swallowed. “The traitor. I suspect that you have ideas on whom it may be.”

 

“I do.” He didn’t look up from his hands but seemed sadder. 

 

“As do I. But whom would you accuse?”

 

Hrid smiled thinly up at her. “I dare not say, not without proof.” 

 

“What sort of proof would you require?” she asked, watching him carefully.

 

“Catching them in the act is the only real way.”

 

“Indeed. Or perhaps pushing them to reveal themselves?”

 

“How could we do such a thing?” he asked.

 

“I have my own ideas,” she hissed. 

 

Drawing the knife from her sleeve, she rushed forward. Hrid’s battle instincts were more than a match for her desperation. He grabbed the heel of her hand and forced her to drop the dagger. It thudded to the ground at their feet as he quickly turned her away from him. Her own charging momentum was pushed into a circle until he had her pinned, holding her own arms tight to her sides while his wrapped around her in a constricting grip. 

 

“Woman, are you mad?” he snarled, gripping her tightly. 

 

“Let me go!” She struggled, thrashing against him. “It’s you! I know it’s you! Either you’ve been bewitched or you’re Loki in disguise!”

 

His arms slackened slightly in shock, but not enough for her to break free. “I … what?! Of course I’m not! I tried to kill Surtur with my own hands!”

 

“That’s an awfully convenient story. Just like how you were saved by Zacharias, whose name you knew to drop to the Askrans. It’s not a real secret that he’s their weakness.” She glared at him over her shoulder. “But I don’t trust like that. Not him, and not you.”

 

“You don’t trust me?” Hrid glared right back, pale eyes boring into hers. “What about me not trusting you? Supposedly good Samaritans who just miraculously show up to aid people not their own at the risk of such sacrifice?”

 

“The Askrans are good people who know that if they weren’t fighting here, it’d be on their own land. It’s less altruism and more self-preservation,” she hissed back. 

 

“Yeah, self-preservation.” He snorted. “That’s why my sisters are both hollow-eyed and one of them sounds like she’s dying of consumption. Is this what your kindness looks like? Do you think I don’t realize that you’re only fighting to save our fate from coming to you?”

 

She relaxed a little in his arms, hearing his pain. One of her hands strained upward and patted awkwardly at his bandaged forearm. “Yes, we’re afraid. We’re all terribly afraid, but that doesn’t mean we’re lacking compassion. Just-” Her throat tightened from suppressed emotion, and her voice cracked. “Just look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not the traitor.”

 

Hrid sighed, and she felt the rise and fall of his chest against her back. His heavy hands rose to her shoulders and rotated her around to face him. From this close, the blunt power of his masculine beauty was dazzling in its potency. “It’s not me. I would never,” he murmured earnestly. 

 

“I believe you,” she replied. “And I apologize for my accusation.”

 

“And for trying to stab me?”

 

“I wasn’t going to  _ stab _ you.” Her mouth twisted as his eyes crinkled with teasing humor. “I was just going to threaten you with it until you told me the truth.”

 

“I see. You did a marvelous job of it too,” he replied, nodding sagely.

 

“Don’t patronize me, Prince.” She slapped at his chest. “I’ll admit that this whole thing has me in a heightened state and that I was rash.”

 

He tilted his head, blue-purple hair falling across his brow. “You’re like a cornered tiger cub. You’ve been chased and hunted this long. It would wear on anyone.”

 

“I’m not weary,” she lied, looking away. 

 

With one battle-calloused finger, he lifted her chin until their eyes met. “You don’t have to pretend that you’re fine,” he murmured. “I’ve had my own breakdowns in the dark. Sometimes it feels like the hopelessness is going to swallow me alive.”

 

Her jaw clenched and trembled. That sounded too much like the feelings she refused to look at, the things she wouldn’t, couldn’t ever say. 

 

“Do the Askrans or your heroes know that you’re keeping all of this bottled inside?” His thumb brushed something wet off her cheek. Heaven above, was she weeping in front of him now?

 

“It doesn’t concern them. I’ll be alright. I’ve got to keep a clear head.” She ducked her face away from his hand. Succumbing to weakness wouldn’t do now, no matter how warm he felt. 

 

“Keeping a clear head means that you have to actually clear it every once in a while,” he replied. “You have to let it out, or else it’ll fester. Come now.” 

 

She found she didn’t want to put up a resistance when he pulled her close, this time with them facing one another instead of her being pinned. Instead, her arms wound around his middle and her fists gripped the linen of his shirt. Hrid’s hold on her was solid and warm and didn’t falter under the quiet, shuddering weight of her sobs. All of her fear, despair, hopelessness, and rage came pouring out of her against his chest. 

 

Sniffling to a stop, she looked up and gave him a watery smile. “I think I ruined your shirt.”

 

“That’s alright,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just a shirt. Do you feel better?”

 

“I do.” She inhaled, steadying herself. “I really do.” 

 

“Good.”

 

Her small, smooth hand, the one that had brandished a dagger at him earlier, now gently brushed his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. Wetting her lips, she stood on her toes and softly brushed a kiss over the corner of his mouth. 

 

That would have been the end of it, but somewhere he adjusted and she didn’t come down and the friendly contact firmed. This press was mutual and warm. The third lingered, contact fuller and softer. When that one ended, she sighed dreamily. 

 

She jerked back, realizing what she’d just done. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I-I just. Um. I’m going to just. Leave.”

 

“Hold on now.” His hands caught her about the waist. “I don’t think so.”

 

“Your Highness, I’ve embarrassed myself enough. Now please-”

 

“Say my name.”

 

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

He smiled, and for a moment she saw the playful prince he might have been without war and tragedy. “You’ve cried in my arms and kissed me. I think we’re close enough now for you to dispense with titles.”

 

“I’m embarrassed enough about that, now if you please-”

 

He silenced her with another kiss, this one warmer and more open than the others. It sent heat skittering down to her knees until they weakened and she collapsed against his chest. 

 

She took a gasping breath. “If this is a comfort thing, I swear I’ll-”

 

“Do what?” he asked. “Stab me?”

 

“I wasn’t going to stab-!”

 

Another kiss, and she felt his arms wrapping around her back and drawing her into him more firmly. This one was hot and conquering. All she could do was grip his shirt and hang on. He ended it with a teasing slide of teeth over her bottom lip that would have made her eyes cross if they were open. 

 

“While I don’t begrudge anyone their desire for comfort, in whatever way they should seek it.” He slipped a bit of hair behind her ear, brushing it with his thumb and making her shiver. “I’m not quite that giving. This is me being selfish.” 

 

His hand slid down, feather-light against her pulse and settling at the overheated skin of her clavicle. “If you want this, then I will surely oblige.” He grinned, eyes bright. “But not until you say my name.”

 

Well. If he was going to play that sort of game.

 

She stepped closer, sliding a hand under the front of his shirt to press against the firm muscles of his belly. The way they fluttered and flexed at her touch told her he wasn’t nearly as cool about this as he was pretending. Her lips were a hair’s breadth away from his own when she whispered what he’d been waiting for. 

 

“Hrid.”

 

His mouth crashed down onto hers, consuming her in a wave of heat and want. There was nothing timid or playful left between them. Whether the desire came from a need to chase away the nightmares or the chemistry that sparked between them, it didn’t matter. All that mattered now was the way his sturdy hands lifted her against him by her thighs, the sudden expanse of burn-scarred skin when she tore his shirt away, the press of his body over her against the cot. 

 

Hrid tore himself away from her lips to slide her coat away and lift her tunic above her head. Finding her breast bindings underneath made him pout in frustration. 

 

“So many layers,” he grumbled, undoing her belt and sliding her boots and trousers down. “You’re not even from a cold land, and yet you’re wrapped up tight.”

 

She sat up and giggled, helping him unwind the strips of linen that kept her chest out of the way. “You could just think of me like a present. The decoration outside has to come off.”

 

“And you’ll let me play with you? If it’s a gift, I ought to get to have fun.”

 

“Only if you’re a  _ very _ good boy.”

 

He smirked and rolled his thumbs over her now-bare nipples. “I’m always good. But no boy could touch you like this. Only a man.”

 

“Ahh-!” She arched into his hands, seeking more. Her nails gripped his shoulders and tried to balance her against the zinging sensation his fingers drew in passes and pinches and gentle pulls. 

 

“Lovely,” Hrid purred. “Give me more of that.”

 

“Someone will hear!” she protested.

 

“Who cares?” he replied. “It’s better that they hear and walk away than to be too quiet and have them walk  _ in _ .”

 

Her face flamed, mortified by the very idea. He was quick to cut off her train of thought, finding the soft spot just below her jaw and kissing it. Shudders slid down her body as he carefully scraped his teeth down her neck. She expected him to linger and mouth at her breasts, but he kept going. The wet heat of his mouth kissed the sensitive skin on her sides and the softness of her belly. He swirled his tongue over her hip, and the sensation of it made her core clench. 

 

“Please,” she choked out. 

 

“Please what?” he asked, trailing up her calf and thigh with his fingertips. 

 

She bit her lower lip and gripped his hair, quietly insisting that he pay attention to the place where she needed him most. 

Hrid smiled so smugly she would have kicked him in different circumstances, but then he was  _ there. _ His tongue licked her open in a hot, broad stripe of sensation. It was at once too much and not enough. While his lips devoured her center like it was a peach, his hands continued to swirl and tease over places she hadn’t realized led right back to it in flashing streaks of pleasure. 

 

“Ah… ah … Ah!” He did something entirely too clever with the tip of his tongue at her swollen bud, and she covered her mouth with one hand to keep her cries in. 

 

Hrid rose from between her thighs, chin and lips shining with her wetness. “Now what did I say about stopping those sounds?”

 

She growled in frustration. “You’re stopping them right now! I- I  _ need _ -!”

 

“Shh,” he soothed, sliding his trousers off his hips and rising over her. His hand cupped her face tenderly as he kissed her, passing the taste of her pleasure between them. “I know what you need. But what I need is for you to not hide.”

 

There wasn’t anywhere to hide, nothing that could be kept from his incredibly,  _ wonderfully _ blue eyes. She finally understood. There would be nothing done by halves. Though he claimed to be doing this for his own reasons, that didn’t mean that hers shouldn’t be just as valued. If this was about letting go, about comfort and sweetness in place of pain and fear, then she needed to let herself be open.

 

If you let nothing out, then nothing else can fill its space. 

 

Her fingertips slid over the broad curve of his shoulder and down his tricep and forearm until her hand clasped with his. The gesture was intimate, but what was intimacy if not the opposite of fear? 

 

He smiled, a warm and deeply tender thing, and adjusted their hands to be palm to palm with their fingers twining. His other hand reached between them, guiding him within her. 

 

They kept their eyes open, if only just, watching the mutual rush of bone-deep pleasure rise between them. The depth he reached was almost too much, the stretch of her muscles aching just enough to make it sweet. She adjusted beneath him and tested the feeling, squeezing him inside her. 

 

“Ah, gods!” he choked out, gripping her hand. “Easy on me, there. Don’t want to go off too soon.”

 

“Enough about going off,” she said with a throaty laugh. “I just want you to  _ go.” _

 

Her hips lifted against his, pushing him deeper and swirling them together. “Ohhhhh,” she moaned, surprised that the move backfired on her. 

 

“Minx,” he groaned back, retreating and then returning with a slap of their centers meeting. “So good. So good. What you do to me.”

 

Hrid’s rhythm was slow and deep, pushing them against one another like a tide rising and falling. She felt like she was drifting along with it, being pulled out into the sea of sensation with only his hand in hers to anchor her. They could be lost in this together. No fear, no hiding, just quiet happiness and wonder. 

 

The waves they were riding together began to crest, and she cupped his heated cheek. “Together,” she gasped. “Stay with me. In me.”

 

“Yes,” he moaned back, kissing her and reaching between them with his free hand. She’d need just a little more. Just a little. His thumb rubbed over her, making her jerk and cry out beneath him. 

 

Almost. 

 

Almost.

 

_ There. _

 

They crashed and fell apart together, her fluttering around him and he flooding her with sudden warmth. It was all they could do to take in enough air. 

 

He disengaged from her, but their hands remained twined and his lips continued to brush lazily over whatever skin was nearest. She stopped him from rolling off her with a touch to his shoulder. 

 

“No, I. I don’t mind it. You can stay,” she murmured with a smile, tugging him to rest his head over her chest. Her fingers stroked through his hair and down over his back. He mumbled something into her shoulder, but she couldn’t make it out. “What was that?”

 

“I said, you can stay too. Stay with me.” He brushed down her arm with his thumb. “You don’t have to leave in a minute or anything.”

 

She thought for a moment. The next morning she’d be seen coming out of his tent, wearing clothes from yesterday. Neither of them was adept at hiding feelings, so the more astute Heroes would know instantly what they’d done and see the bloom of something between them. Fjorm would be scandalized and Anna would be teasing. The rest of the future was uncertain but somehow less frightening than before. It would be worth it. 

 

“Yes,” she replied, smiling softly down at him. “I’ll stay.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
